Father

I have your testicles
in my hands,

please do not pull away,
it would hurt less
for the both of us;

I just want to see what I never understood-

Why can your scrotum envelop my cold fingers
Unconditionally?

Is there a father within
those pale white shells,
pulling my fingers tighter, closer-
They feel ready for my warmth
my forgiveness,
but you don’t,

You have been too proud and silent
to ask,
even your face seems frozen,
unmoved by pain;

Are you afraid to rupture,
to spill the reasons why
your seeds never became

Your son.